


Dream into the Distance

by AvianInk



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Domestic, Domestic Avengers, Domestic Bliss, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Fluff, Or is it an AU?, POV Natasha Romanov, Pregnancy, Prompt Fic, Romance, Sleep, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-13
Updated: 2019-03-13
Packaged: 2019-11-16 14:31:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18096170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AvianInk/pseuds/AvianInk
Summary: Somewhere between reality and a dream, Natasha discovers she's pregnant with Bruce's child.





	Dream into the Distance

**Author's Note:**

> I'm horizontal and completely boneless while typing this, but I told myself I would post today.
> 
> This story also comes from a Tumblr prompt. If the beginning confuses you after reading...good ;) There are reasons for that.

It might be the way they fall asleep, with Bruce curled around her, fingers underneath her shirt, splayed across her stomach. Maybe it’s the product of their time together—nearly five years now. Whatever the reason, the dream that she settles into is unlike anything she’s ever experienced.

Her mind is a setting of glass and stars. There’s no recollection of how she got there and no pressing need to know. An expanse of panes stretches out on either side of her, extending into the black and lavender eternity that is both distant and near. Beneath her, stars gleam, which seems more impossible than the fact that she’s suitless before a whole galaxy and completely fine. Bruce is by her side, and they are, somehow, unquestionably safe.

Hallways of mirrors connect to a room of them. Panels of mismatching reflections surround her and Bruce. Every one displays a different version, yet channel the same essence. Some show them in the simple clothes they’re wearing, while others feature outfits on a spectrum of familiar to unknown and odd. Though in their reality—if she could call it that—they stand about a foot apart, close enough to be within reach, the images contain a myriad of poses ranging from hands held to embraces to photo-ready smiles and beyond.

The halls have no discernible end, just as this construct has no ceiling. The universe drifts above them like a cloud, and she’s not sure whether it’s moving, they are, or a combination of both. Unfathomable amounts of particles form clusters of prismatic dust and luminescence. The coppery reds, plume towers of yellowed amber, wisps of sky-inspired blue, and everything in between form a fantasy more plentiful and vast than the reality they know. The polychrome cracks and pearls are far-reaching yet so defined, their own galaxies among the masses.

On some lower level, she doesn’t know what to make of it, doesn’t know how this should compel her to act. Some larger sensation, maybe instinct, overtakes her, assures her, guides her on a path down one hallway with no assigned direction. She walks on a runway above the stars with steady steps that don’t question where they’ll fall. Somewhere down this way, she pauses to glance for Bruce and sees he’s gone a different direction. Nothing urgent seizes her. Even if it did, she’d only have to look into one of the mirrors, still showing the both of them, and find tranquility.

* * *

 

She awakens to her name, a hand on her thigh, and a weight in her belly.

Daylight inundates her, even with her eyes closed. Her eyelashes flutter against it, fighting to open and observe these strange sensations.

A series of ethereal moments has delivered her from a vast astral plane to the black and gray interior of a car. The passenger side seat cradles her and her swollen body. There’s no engine hum, no radio, but there is Bruce beside her, his tender touch beckoning her to a confused consciousness. 

Everything about him is familiar, right down to the slate T-shirt, glasses, and the mixture of caution and care etched into his features. Her enlarged stomach and the vibrancy that thrums from within, however, is not.

There’s a surprising lack of panic. Somewhere, deep down where her waking state hasn’t reached yet, this makes sense. After that dream, though, some confirmation would be nice. “Bruce?”

“The space dream again?” His hand migrates from her leg to her cheek, where she lets his caress support her as reality reorganizes itself. There’s no question about it; he knows exactly what’s happened, because she’s told him before. Of course she has; he’s her haven even when her own mind rebels against her.

She breathes, “Yeah.” Then she grins, reaches across the console and tugs him to her for a quick kiss because, yes, she is pregnant and their relationship is a citadel of securities and precious experiences.

They separate as he checks, “Ready?”

She gives her response in a smile and they, unborn children included, head into the private practice.

* * *

 

They quickly trade the subject of her peculiar, recurring dream for collaborative contemplations on baby names. Instead of reaching a decision on revealing the sex of their child, they discuss the social implications and assumptions of knowing versus not knowing. It feels like they’ve just surpassed the surface of the topic and conjured a handful of names when their doctor knocks and enters.

“Hel-lo. How are you doing today?” Doctor Margaret Kuwasawa emits pep in tone that might annoy some, but her signature soft smile offsets any chance of exuberance overdose. Her kind nature makes her not only a comfort, but inherently genuine and, therefore, easy to trust.

Natasha rests a palm on her bump, which had begun its rapid growth since emerging. “Preparing to migrate into maternity wear.”

Dr. Kuwasawa flashes her a sympathetic look while arranging her stool, the ultrasound machine, the monitor. “Some of the options aren’t great, huh?” When a tight-lipped grin affirms, their doctor observes, “Some of it can be...aggressively feminine.”

“I like dresses, but on my own terms.” Confinement to ankle-length frocks for the next five or six months has precisely zero appeal to her.

“There are some online retailers that are pretty good. They’re pretty easy to find on Google.” Dr. Kuwasawa settles into her usual seat, leans forward onto her knees before washing her hands and donning gloves. “Check it out if you want.”

It’s strange, even for her, but her trust for Margaret came with an alarming swiftness—so much so that the haste of it caused suspicion. Bruce felt the same way, and they simultaneously realized that this doctor is of a rare, authentic, altruistic subset of humankind.

Margaret both understands and respects Bruce’s extensive, multifaceted background and the intelligence they individually possess. Because of this, her explanations of procedures and processes are brief summaries, trusting that they will raise any possible questions if need be. She’s the kind of person that asks someone how they’re doing and has genuine interest in the answer every time.

That compassion doesn’t hinder her honesty. She freely and fearlessly embarks into bluntness with a care infused into each word. That holds true to this moment, when she says, “So.” She passes a knowing look over Natasha and Bruce. “Are you gonna make my day and tell me you reached a decision?”

Everyone in this room knows that she and Bruce have devoted more time to contemplating the results of a sex reveal than deciding for themselves. It’s too early in her pregnancy to tell anyway, but, knowing them like she does, Dr. Kuwasawa wanted to get them thinking about it in advance.

“We’re just gonna wing it.” Nat confirms this with Bruce through a look. He answers by taking one of her hands, his fingers slipping easily into her palm.

Their doctor speaks with a smile, “Hey, whatever works for you. I support it.”

With that settled, Margaret gets to preparation, snapping on gloves while Natasha rolls up her shirt. The doctor begins with the standard, “How’s everything feeling? Still good?”

“Yeah, it’s fine.” Though the pregnancy itself feels smooth, the fertility and impregnation process wasn’t. Once she and Bruce decided to have a kid, they embarked into a lengthy process of tests, examining some experimental procedures, contemplating surrogacy, almost adopting, and then each endured a medical gauntlet.

Dr. Kuwasawa confirms, “No pains, nausea, discomfort…?”

“No.” The bare bulge of her stomach reminds her of the car and the astral haze before waking. She doesn’t recall falling asleep, or getting in the car. That was probably a product of pregnancy symptoms and fatigue, not something to concern Margaret about. Thus, she only adds on, “Just the dreams.”

The transducer rests patiently in the doctor’s grip. “Well, it’s unexpected, but definitely not a concerning side effect. We’ll have the therapist keep an eye on it.”

That, even more than the impregnation process, she dislikes the most. The abnormal dreams give her nothing but trouble and a therapist referral. “More mental probing.” She says, resisting a sigh.

“Sorry, Natasha. I don’t make the rules.”

“Don’t you?”

Margaret smirks, then consults the machine. It awakens to her summons. While it orients itself, she squeezes some of the signature gelatinous ooze onto Natasha’s belly, then marks the start of the actual ultrasound by spreading it with the probe.

“Okay. Let’s find that heartbeat.” She says, studying the monitor as her wrist slows to a careful, idling pace.

As Margaret scours the screen and Nat’s expanding womb, Natasha settles on Bruce. With her shirt secured and out of the way, she’s free to seek his hand, intertwine their fingers, bring them to her mouth for a languid kiss. To bring her solace, he doesn’t need to do anything except be here. Yet, he does more, discovers ways large and small everyday. She fits their joined grip over her heart and looks to their doctor.

The probe pauses and concentration turns Margaret serious. The apparatus wades through a slick ooze of gel in a gradual migration from one side of Natasha’s swell to the other. Her heartbeat hardens to stone for all of a second, eliciting a squeeze from Bruce.

A sunbeam of a smile cracks through Margaret’s fixation. “Do you…”

It’s too early to discern the sex. To double check, she turns to Bruce. He’s already asking her the same question with a perplexed gaze.

“Do you wanna know how many babies you’re having?”

This is where the dream begins. She whips her head back to Dr. Kuwasawa, who is somehow still here. This room is the same as it was a moment ago, which is impossible.

Bruce repeats, as deep in disbelief as she, “‘How  _ many _ ?’”

Margaret steadies the probe as she swivels the monitor toward them. The pressure, the gel, the fullness in Natasha’s stomach stays the same and, somehow, the entire planet shifts underneath her and her love. Margaret speaks and it moves mountains, “Twins.”

This had been beyond impossibility, as far as a black hole. And, yet, this is the most concrete life has ever been. She was whole before this. Because of that, she can now foster this whole other universe inside her—two tiny heartbeats on a screen—with her partner always within reach.


End file.
